


Linger, Pray

by Azar443



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 05:10:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11120592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azar443/pseuds/Azar443
Summary: Because what good can a ghost do, except linger?





	Linger, Pray

Percival Graves has been officially missing for 3 months.

Unofficially, he’s been gone for a year, give or take. That’s 9 months of impersonation by Grindelwald gone unnoticed. When his Aurors think back on it, they’ll agree the impersonation was shoddy at best. They’ll recall how Mr Graves was himself and yet not; he was his usual stoic, sombre yet charming self, although thinking on it, they wonder if he might have been _too_ charming; their Mr Graves always seemed oblivious to his effect on people. That one tried too hard. They’ll remember how he knew none of their names or their birthdays, and how some of the more outspoken Aurors were transferred for asking too many questions that were too right.

In the first month of his disappearance, everyone is optimistic, confident that they’ll find out where Percival is being held and rescue him, and that they’ll have a grand party to celebrate his homecoming, regardless of how opposed he’ll be about it. There are still smiles, and easy-going is the air in the Department of Magical Security.

The second month rolls in, and Hope seems to have quietly made her way out of the Box. There’s still _some_ left, in those newer recruits who can’t seem to bring themselves to believe their omnipotent boss might be gone. They’re the ones who still chirp cheerful good mornings and where do we search every day they come into the office, and the more experienced Aurors can’t find it in their hearts to force reality upon them. The drive to search for Percival is still there, if a little more stiff and faltering, and there are more quiet sighs and hooded eyes when each search turns out to be nothing.

It’s somewhere between the second and third month when someone suggests if Mr Graves might be dead. The notion boldly put forth is greeted by silence and tentative “nah, nothin’ can kill Mr Graves”s but no one is really sure if he might be dead after all. There’s this large calendar smack in the middle of the department, with assignments and deadlines and stake outs, and there are two dates circled in red, and no one will admit to the deed. The first date is when “Percival” returns from Europe, and the second is when Grindelwald is exposed. There’s talk in the coffee room about which date will be, _y’know_ , Mr Graves’ official date of death. There’s also whispers going on that Madame Picquery’s contacted Mr Graves’ last remaining family, and if nothing turns up soon, forms will be signed and funerals will be planned and search and rescues will turn to memorials. There’s still time though, right?

* * *

When one of the janitors barge into the department, all pale-faced and stammering, the Aurors stare at him in concern because what’s all this talk of a _ghost_? In MACUSA? Granted, it’s not _impossible_ , but then the janitor gabs on about a fedora and a black coat and piercing eyes and then they’re interrupted. The janitor’s eyes roll back in his head and everyone cries because standing, or rather, floating, in the doorway is a faded version of Percival Graves, who looks every inch imposing in death as he did in life.

He’s wearing his fedora, which isn’t surprising because he’s on an official mission when he dies, and there’s signs of wear and tear on his heavy black coat which _oh_ , they’ll not see hanging by the doorway to his office which was made of the softest of cashmere and wool and smelled of smoke and _him_. The ghost doesn’t say a word, only offers them a crooked smile and a wave of his hand and everyone just walks back to their desk because work is work, even when your boss’s ghost is standing in front of you because that’s how Mr Grave trained them, and because they think they’ll all have a breakdown if they don’t have work to distract them.

They get used to him, Mr Graves, floating austerely all around the department. He did give Madame Picquery a scare though, when he pokes his head through the wall into her office, and everyone swears they hear her shrill scream throughout the entire building. Her secretary is wildly gesturing to anyone who’ll listen that the President started throwing everything on her desk at the chuckling spectre. She doesn’t tell them about the sobs Seraphina heaves when she’s run out of fright and anger and how Percival places a ghostly hand on her shoulder and they mourn for his life and his spark and _why did it have to be you._

They get used to how he hovers near their desk, reading through their paperwork and pointing out any mistakes they might have made. Whenever they’re in the midst of planning for a mission, they show him their plans and get his approval, like old times. Sometimes he gets them to change a detail or two, but for the most part, he’s proud of how his lessons have stuck with them. That they’ve thought about every possible angle, planned every exit and ambush, not taking any chances with their lives. He gives them a small but genuine smile, and it reaches his eyes and they all agree that this smile is everything they strive for, to know that they’ve made him proud, even though he’s dead. And the pain that accompanies thoughts about his death slowly lessens, and it slowly turns into something that feeds everyone’s drive to do everything better, to be stronger and sharper and be the people he’s trained them to be. And he knows, and he’s proud of them.

He’s a comfort, Mr Graves, because his people know he means the best for all of them and there’s a softness to his ghost that they’ve not seen in life. Maybe it’s because he thinks there’s no point in constant harsh words and sharp reprimands and fierce scowls now that he’s dead. That’s not to say he won’t tear into them if they fuck up, _oh no_. They secretly assign two modes to angry ghost Percival; the first mode is when someone fucks up moderately, not serious enough to warrant a complete chew out. Mr Graves treats them to a chilling glare and they scurry off to rectify whatever stupid mistake they’ve made, and he stares at them until they’ve remedied the problem and show him their progress. The second mode is when he actually opens his mouth, and oh no, words don’t come out. Instead, the worst _howl_ of anger assaults said person who’s screwed up, and they never fail to whimper at the sheer intensity of his anger. To be fair, Mr Graves is only in the second mode whenever someone manages to fuck something up so spectacularly, they ought to have been suspended.

He’s not all hard edges though, he never was. There are times when someone breaks because of guilt or failure or all sorts of fears and he’s always quietly there. Ever the figure of subtlety, he waits till they’re alone before resting a strangely warm hand on their head. He never speaks, so they do, and they tell him about the little boy who died, or the criminal they were forced to kill because he was frightened and fought back, adamant of not going to jail, or about their loved one who died during the weekend and going from mourning to working in a time span too short. Even though he doesn’t speak, they think he’s offered them the greatest comfort in the world. Slowly, Mr Graves becomes Percival, and everyone is unused to this change, but it feels _right_.

* * *

When Percival appears, Madame Picquery’s had to elect a new Director. No one is happy with it, not Madame Picquery, nor Percival’s Aurors, not even the new Director. No one wants Percival to be replaced, but bureaucracy dictates that the empty seat next to the President _must_ be filled, regardless of respect and sentiment and reluctance to see things change. Percival feels a sting when it’s announced his former deputy is the new Director, and he wants to be selfish for once and scream that it’s _his_ job, that they’re replacing _him_ and that this position is what he’s sacrificed everything for, even his life. But ever the noble character, he doesn’t protest, because what good can a ghost do, except linger?

That’s _not_ to say that he doesn’t show his displeasure, he’s not above showing some pettiness, especially now that he’s dead. It’s not like he has anyone to impress, or image to keep up with. But he’s denying having thrown a tantrum, because he didn’t. Percival Graves doesn’t throw tantrums ( _hah!_ ). He _might_ have upended piles of paperwork on the new Director’s desk, _might_ have made those clichéd ghost noises while blowing cold air on the man’s neck, and _would_ have continued haunting the poor man if Madame Picquery had not given him a stern talking to, which had the ghost rolling his eyes because he’s _dead_ god damn it, what’s good of being a ghost if you couldn’t take advantage of it sometimes?

Percival’s ghost has becomes such a familiar sight around the office now, that no one thinks of what would happen if he’s gone. Because ghosts can only linger for so long, you see, until they’ve done what they’ve stayed on to do. But Percival doesn’t quite know _why_ he’s stayed. Sure, he thinks it’s might be because he’s worried about his team, about whether they’ll be fine after he’s gone and whether the new Director can do a good of a job as he once did, because even though Percival Graves is the farthest thing from arrogant, he _knows_ he was the best. But seeing his team slowly gather together stronger than ever and getting their shit together, not that they ever lost it even though their grasp might’ve been a little looser before, he begins to wonder if he should be going, even if he doesn’t want to.

* * *

Tina notices he’s a little more paler and translucent one day, and a ripple of panicked murmurs flash through the entire department but they shut up when Percival turns his gaze on them. His non-existent heart jumps a little, when he looks in the mirror and has to squint hard to properly see himself, and he now knows why everyone’s looking at him like they’re about to cry. His stomach drops, and so do his shoulders, and everyone is heartbroken because they don’t want to see him go, don’t want to look at the doorway and _not_ see him floating there, or hovering over them, or just not _feeling_ him there anymore. It’s a quiet day in the office, and no one likes it.

The next day sees a fierce glint in Percival’s eyes, and even though he’s a little more translucent and a little less there, everyone can feel him even more than ever. He pops in and out of the department, and each time he comes back there’s a soft smile on his transparent lips and little gifts on everyone’s desks. They don’t know how he manages to get them gifts as a ghost, but no one asks any question, although there _is_ word that the blonde down in Wand Permits who has a sister in their department helped him with the gifts. There’s a breath of pause when they realise Percival’s given them gifts that are so specific to them and things they’ve told him maybe years and months ago, that he’s actually _remembered_. Seraphina Picquery walks into her office to see a slab of chocolate on her desk and promptly sits down and cries, because this was the chocolate a teenage Percival gifted her during their first Christmas as classmates in Ilvermorny. She thinks she can feel his departure looming over her, and it’s bittersweet when she savours the bit of chocolate.

They all come into work one day and suddenly he’s gone. They don’t see or feel him anywhere, and the entire space feels so empty and cold. Several times throughout the day, someone looks up with a smile and a question and the smile slides off their face when there’s no one there, and they realise he’s really gone. Forever. His team is quiet and sombre and in mourning for the next few months. There’s a small memorial outside his office, and the new Director doesn’t say anything when he sees it, only leaves a white flower next to his picture. Someone puts up a memorial plaque on the walls of the office where everyone can see it, and it’s not an enchanted portrait or a ghost, but it’s still comforting to just look up and see his familiar gaze on them, as though he’s still looking over them. There isn’t a grave for him, but one day after work, they all converge at the Graves family crypt where a simple stone slab is set up for him, next to his parents. They each place a red rose before his headstone, and they tell him about what’s happened since he’s moved on, and that they miss him and they hope he’s at peace. Those who are religious murmur a quiet prayer for him, and those who aren’t hope the wind carries their whispers of goodbye to him in the afterlife. When they turn to leave, there’s a fierce gust of wind that tugs on their coats and hats, and they smile because if they squint just hard enough, they think they can see him reminding them that they’re _his_ people, and they think the small smile on his face makes him look like he’s never left.


End file.
